


Variance of Two

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort, Emotional, Fluff, Internal Monologue, M/M, Oral Sex, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We simply watch, deduct, and on some level vaguely interact. It’s how Kyo has always been the most comfortable and I suppose it works about the same for me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variance of Two

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I’d like to make a comment on this phrase: “another anomaly in a world of indifference.” I mean this to be a play on words, meaning both non-difference (sameness) and meaninglessness. Also, happy birthday, Shinya!  
> Beta Readers: tcharlatan  
> Song[s]: "Comfortably Numb" by Syria

I watch him just as I’ve always watched him. It’s a part of the dynamic between us. We simply watch, deduct, and on some level vaguely interact. It’s how Kyo has always been the most comfortable and I suppose it works about the same for me. In a lot of ways, I’m more outgoing than he is, but on the same token, I find too much social interaction tiring to my mind.

Today, he sits on my couch, Miyu curled up against his left side and the new puppy he’s adopted on his right. His legs are crossed in that manner that should be feminine but on him is nothing but pure masculinity and one hand rests on his pup, his other holding a thick book just far enough from his face that he can read it properly. It’s almost strange how relaxed he is, despite not being in his own home. He’s brought the dog over for a visit, the pair of them getting on just fine as long as he’s there, like a strong buffer between them… or perhaps a link. He’s been a link to so many people over the years, perhaps he is theirs as well.

I’ve settled in a chair to his left, sipping my tea and simply taking in all that he is. Even reading a book, he’s elegant… and intense. More intense than any other person I have ever known. He can’t be ignored, not even in a huge crowd; he is a single, brilliant soul amongst a thousand dim and dying.

I slip forward in my seat, regarding him – not for the first time – in a different sort of light. Once upon a time, I regarded him as my friend, a man, the vocalist of my band. But now he is none of these. Kyo is not a man, a vocalist, a poet, or anything else. He is simply Kyo. To me, he is utterly and completely a fellow entity, another anomaly in a world of indifference. In so many ways, we are so much alike. I watch people silently judge us, pull us apart in their minds and build what they think they’re seeing back into some semblance of what we could be, but yet are not. People look for meaning when there is none, they look for reasons when they should simply accept. Kyo and I… we accept.

But tonight, things are slightly different from our usual comfortable silences and utter disregard for social norms. Tonight, he brought me a gift for my birthday, though he came in pretense of the dogs’ strange little play date. It was simple, a single box with a leather bracelet, a single fleur de lis charm hanging from it. He’s such an odd cookie, knowing my tastes despite us not talking about them at all. But he watches… I know he does. He observes with an accuracy that I’ve never seen another rival in my life.

He puts the book down and leans back in his seat, closing his eyes and he huffs out a soft sound. My eyes travel the length of his form, taking in the sculpting of his body, the way his muscles strain as he arches and yawns, the slight bulge of arousal pressed up against his jeans…. Maybe some would find this exceptionally odd for a man who deems himself straight to notice. But with Kyo, it’s not about gender. It’s about how the mental and physical mesh; about how I find him mentally appealing and the physical aspect not really mattering at all. 

My eyes flick to the dogs as they leap from the couch, sensing he’s done being their barrier from one another, and scurry off toward the kitchen and the food I left in there earlier. His eyes crack open and his tongue slips out to wet his lower lip, a sensual sort of gesture that I know wasn’t the least bit intentional. One hand slides down over the bulge in his jeans and he chuckles in a dark sort of manner, grabbing himself in a blatant display. “You’re staring again.”

I can feel it as my lips move to quirk up in that simple gesture of amusement. “Very astute.”

He grunts, still feeling at his now fully erect cock, shrugging a little. “You always have said I’m observant.” He tilts his head back again, just resting there, his hips pushing up into his hand. This time when he licks his lips it’s on purpose, a slow drag of pink, supple muscle over flesh, a trail of glistening saliva left behind. He gasps as he does something he must find particularly arousing to himself and then settles once again, his head turning to stare at me. “Are you… with anyone?”

It’s a standard question, one that comes from him a few times a year when he wants specific things from the both of us. It’s so… clinical and yet from him it’s almost endearing. I shake my head and stand up, offering him my hand. My response is utterly wordless, but he understands it anyway, accepting my hand, pulling himself up from the seat and trailing after me down the hallway.

Minutes later, we’re entangled on the bed, the sheets below us warm with the heat of our actions. He’s moving over me, all strong muscles and taunt skin. He’s glorious like this, he always has been. Somehow I can never get enough of it when he really gets into the moment. My fingers slide over his arms, feeling his biceps strain as he thrusts, his whole body in on the action. I feel his thighs quiver, pressed tight against the backs of my legs. His abdomen clenches and he groans softly, a look of bliss painted across his features.

My hands move to his chest, sliding over the sweat-slicked flesh, taking in the heat and the slight raise of each and every scar he’s left upon his body. His eyes meet mine and for a moment nothing else in the world exists except me and him. My breath catches in my throat and I stare up into his eyes, feeling as though I’m drowning in him, cast overboard in the ocean of his soul.

We hold the moment for as long as we can, but eventually he snaps, throwing back his head with a quiet little gasp as he finds completion. The smallest smile dances over my lips. Everyone assumes he’d be so very loud during sex, but the truth is, he’s as quiet here as he is anywhere else except the stage. But it’s a matter of truth; this is how I know I get the real person and not the vague facsimile he casts upon the stage.

Without a single moment of hesitation, he slides down my body, taking me in his mouth. A tiny whimper leaves my lips as I arch into his touches, my thoughts clouding as he works his magic. The thoughts slip away and for a time I’m left with nothing but the sensation of pleasure sliding along my every nerve. This is the place I both love and hate; the one time I can live without thought, but in the end it almost seems a waste. It’s a strange feeling to love and hate simultaneously.

I find my end with a single cry, my body shaking as I slide over the edge, my hand tangled in his long, blonde hair. He lets me float on this cloud for as long as he can before pulling away, turning his back to me for the time being. This is how he deals with such intimacy. He opens himself so completely during the act that he has to focus on closing parts of it off once he’d done and I understand this better than anyone.

The minutes slip past and I lay here, not saying a word, not asking a single thing from him. When he finally slides back up the bed toward me, he has a small smile on his lips. One trembling hand pushes a single stray piece of my hair behind my ear. “Happy birthday.”

And I know those words mean a million more than they speak.

**The End**


End file.
